


Battles and Bad Luck

by PoptartsUnlimited



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), overwatch
Genre: M/M, Pokemon Au!, fun times, overwatch pokemon au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoptartsUnlimited/pseuds/PoptartsUnlimited
Summary: Notorious crime lord Pokémon trainer Hanzo Shimada is on the run pursued by former Pokémon Overwatch member Jesse McCree. Their inevitable clash does not go quite as planned.EDIT: Hey, guys. Just wanted to let everyone know that at this point I can say for sure I will not be updating this story again. Feel free to read the first two chapters! But A. I'm no longer part of this fandom and B. I'm not really sure Pokemon is an appropriate vehicle for the sort of thing I was trying to write.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an art stream by http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense ! Thanks to my beta reader, http://archiveofourown.org/users/sleuth/pseuds/sleuth, as well as http://archiveofourown.org/users/KarmaSpitter/pseuds/KarmaSpitter, http://whiskeytabby.tumblr.com/, and http://patchworksam.tumblr.com/. 
> 
> Please note that I've neither written anything nor watched Pokemon in a long time. Advice and polite criticism are always welcome!
> 
> Incidentally, here's my Tumblr blog: http://unlimitedpoptarts.tumblr.com/ . Feel free to follow!
> 
> EDIT: Sorry, guys, I'm new to AO3 posting and didn't understand how chapters work. This is going to have more than one chapter. Apologies!

Jesse McCree was not a stealthy man by nature, and fortunately, he knew it. For all the difficulty he had remaining unnoticed, he was nevertheless quite the accomplished tracker of Pokémon and humans alike. Humans were especially easy to follow, in his experience. Though his current quarry had proven to be a bit more difficult than most, he was nothing McCree could not handle. Even people trying to avoid being tracked had to stop for food, gasoline, and rest at some point.

Hopefully, the person he was after now would be stopping for a rest. He had been on the road since five in the morning and now that it was coming up on noon, he had to be tired. McCree certainly was, and judging by the skid mark where it appeared that Hanzo had nearly run off the road, he was losing concentration. Considering the breakneck speed Hanzo had been moving at earlier, he might think that he had made enough progress now for a short respite. 

_REST STOP 1 km  
NEXT EXIT 74 km_

The faded green road sign was just what he was waiting for. He eased his foot down on the brakes of his dusty red four-door pickup and coasted down the off-ramp of highway somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Sighing heavily, he flicked off the radio as he drove into the parking lot. The place was deserted but for a single black sports car sitting by itself in the farthest space from the entrance. For a few minutes he sat in his truck, letting it idle as he looked between the ramshackle restroom and the sports car. He briefly debated taking a smoke, but ultimately decided against it, instead briefly checking his location on a tattered paper map. Despite the relative calm at the moment, he was loath to be taken unawares by any sudden activity, and it was getting awfully hot in his car in spite of his A/C now that he was stopped. Tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel, he tossed the map up onto the folded red serape draped across the dash and yanked the keys from the ignition, clambering out onto the asphalt.

Boots crunching on the stray gravel strewn across the parking lot, he approached the car curiously. So far, he had not managed to get this close to it. There was only so much that his old truck could take. If only trucks were as fast as Arcanines. 

“Nice car,” he muttered, examining his reflection in the shiny chrome hubcaps. He fixed his hat quickly before pulling a short pocketknife from the belt of his jeans. “Shame about the tires.”

A few moments later he straightened up, examining his handiwork with satisfaction before walking to the trail that ran a short distance behind the parking lot. Red letters boldly proclaimed a warning on a sign beside the path.

BEWARE OF ARBOKS – STAY ON TRAIL

“Lovely,” he said to himself, starting down the path. A single pair of footprints led down through the dust, abruptly leaving the trail and winding through a small grove of pine trees that stood out starkly on the plain. He could tell that he was getting close now. The footprints were sharp, barely disturbed by the light breeze that blew over them. 

And then, just around a small hill, he found him. Keeping a good distance away behind a rocky outcrop, McCree watched as Hanzo Shimada sat down in the shade against an old sun-bleached stump with a black backpack at his side, stretching his legs out in the dry grass in front of him. He could imagine Hanzo letting out a sigh of relief as he relaxed after what had admittedly been a long and fast day of travel through a relatively uninhabited area. Whatever had Hanzo on the move so quickly was only McCree’s guess, but he imagined it was nothing good. Although he had been gaining on him for days, this was the first time he had actually caught up with the man. If he hoped to be able to capture him, he would probably be best off doing so quickly.

Any chance McCree had of taking Hanzo by surprise was completely lost when he abruptly pulled something from his bag and threw it at his feet. McCree jumped slightly when it exploded into a large, silvery blue creature. Apparently the thrown object had been a Poké Ball, and the creature…

He blinked in surprise. Hanzo had an Alolan Ninetales, and apparently was using it (her, most likely) to stand guard while he took a break. Wherever Hanzo had acquired her from was a mystery to him, but he suspected she had probably been stolen or at least extorted from some hapless rival of the Shimadas. Such was their modus operandi.

Noticing the Ninetales sniffing the air in his direction, he sighed. He might as well just reveal himself before being discovered watching. This encounter would almost certainly end in a battle, which he was not particularly looking forward to. Briefly running through the plan he had laid out in his mind, he checked to make sure he still had his Poké Balls where he wanted them. The last thing he wanted was to be caught unprepared in a fight with someone as notorious as Hanzo Shimada.

Before he could think better of it, he stepped out from behind the outcrop and started walking towards the other man and his Pokémon, his pace slow and casual. Almost instantly, the Ninetales’s head snapped up, her nose to the air. Hanzo was on his feet even before she started to growl, putting herself between her trainer and McCree. He stood shorter than McCree would have guessed from the photos he had seen of him, but his face was just as he expected. Cold, angular, and strikingly refined, much like his Ninetales. 

“Howdy,” McCree greeted him with feigned amiability. “Hanzo Shimada, I presume?”

“Who are you?” Hanzo snapped. His voice was low and snarling. “What do you want?”

 _Not too friendly,_ McCree thought, unsurprised. “Name’s McCree. Wanted to have a little chat with you, if that’s not too much trouble.”

“I would rather be on my way,” Hanzo said sharply. He took a step back, his eyes flickering back toward the parking lot.

“Ah, you see, I’m afraid that’s just not possible,” McCree drawled. His hand trailed to his pocket surreptitiously in case Hanzo tried anything, which seemed like a likely possibility with his Ninetales staring daggers at him.

Hanzo’s lip curled. “Who sent you? The Shimada?”

The question caught him off guard. Why ever would Hanzo’s own clan be after him? “No one sent me,” he said. “Well. I sent myself, I suppose you could say. Y’see, there ain’t much I hate more than seeing decent folks pushed out of their homes and businesses and innocent Pokémon killed, and it seems you and your charming clan have been responsible for a good bit of that lately. So. I think it’s ‘bout time we put an end to that.”

“You don’t look like police,” Hanzo said dismissively. His lip curled with scorn as he eyed him up and down. “You look like a vigilante. I have no time for vigilantes. And if you had paid attention, you would know that I have never been charged with any such crimes.” He cleared his throat, lifting his chin proudly. The scarf tying back his hair fell over his shoulder as he spoke. McCree found himself suddenly distracted by the intricate blue tattoo of what appeared to be a Dragonair that wound its way down Hanzo’s arm, bared by the low black tank-top he wore in the summer heat. 

Tearing his eyes away, McCree shrugged. “Guess you could say I’m a bit of a vigilante these days. Yeah. That’s fair.”

“Fine.” Hanzo stood defiantly. “It makes no difference. You have no reason to apprehend me. If you continue this, I will not hesitate to fight my way out. I assure you, any fight between my Pokémon and yours will end in your loss.”

Not exactly modest, McCree thought. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that. Now, hold up a minute. Let’s go back real quick. You say I’ve got no reason to take you in, but this-“ he paused as he pulled a crinkled paper from his pocket, “-says otherwise. Would you like me to read it to you? Eh, I think I’ll just go ahead and do that. Let’s see… extortion, bribery, tax evasion, trade in stolen goods, trade in stolen Pokémon, looks like some conspiracy in there too… and of course, deliberate killing of Pokémon both in and out of battles. Sounds like there’s the possibility you killed a couple of trainers, as well. Unconfirmed, of course, but still. You and your cronies have got quite a price on your heads, partner. You especially, being heir to the whole crew like y’are. I ain’t gonna stand by and let you walk away from here so you can go on killing more Pokémon and terrorizing all those people.”

Hanzo bristled. “You know nothing of me. You know nothing of any of this!” His Ninetails, sensing his anger, advanced a few steps towards McCree, her icy hackles raised.

“Right, I bet I know I lot more than you’d think,” McCree shot back, standing his ground. With things seeming to be getting a little hairy, he drew the Poké Ball he had set aside from his pocket. 

Hanzo opened his mouth to say something, but McCree had already made up his mind. He was going to end this as quickly as possible. “You ain’t gonna come willingly, are you,” he said flatly.

“Of course not,” Hanzo scoffed. “This is ridiculous.”

“Lotta life is ridiculous.” McCree shrugged. He sighed, rubbing his thumb along the seam of the Poké Ball he had kept on hand, never taking his eyes off Hanzo and his Ninetales. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Let’s take it to the parking lot. Plenty of open space there. Try to keep it civil, you hear? No deaths. My team defeats yours and you’re coming along with me. Get to take the passenger’s seat if you’re cooperative about it. You defeat my team and well… can’t say I see it happening, but suppose I’d have to let you go on your merry way just like you wanted.” He decided it best not to mention that he had slashed all four of Hanzo’s tires. 

His jaw clenched, Hanzo nodded. Tensely, he walked over to his Ninetales and gave her light scratch behind the ears before capturing her once more. Shooting McCree one last filthy look, he snatched up his backpack stalked back to the trail. 

Following him out to the parking lot, he gave Hanzo a few minutes to prepare, already fairly certain of his own strategy. It had been a long time since his last defeat in the field, and he was not planning on ending that streak any time soon. He suspected from seeing Hanzo’s Ninetales that he might already be at an advantage. Most trainers picked a few types of Pokémon and stuck with them. He favored fire; apparently Hanzo favored ice or fairy. Together they could probably make quite a team, he thought distractedly. The location was slightly less than ideal, though. He had battled in worse places than a rest stop parking lot, but not many. If anything did get hairy, there was nowhere for him to get much help for his Pokémon. His stockpile of potions under the passenger’s seat would have to do.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked back up at Hanzo, who now stood at the ready across from him. “Are you ready?” he called, a Poké Ball clearly clenched in his fist.

 _Courteous of him to ask._ “Reckon I am,” McCree shouted back. “On a count of three, then?”

Hanzo gave a curt nod in response. 

With a slight thrill of nervousness, McCree began the count. “Alright. Three… two… one.”  
He threw his Poké Ball with lightning speed and in an eruption of fire, his Arcanine was there. Hanzo’s was, too; McCree was pleased to see that he had apparently chosen his Ninetales again. She would be no match for Eastwood. His Arcanine shook out his fur and let out a deafening roar that made both the Ninetales and Hanzo flinch. His russet hair crackled with fiery heat as he took a leap forward, hackles raised, claws digging into the soft asphalt on which he stood. Even from far away, he could hear Hanzo curse quietly, apparently realizing his disadvantage before barking an order to his Ninetales. 

She made a move to advance, her teeth bared menacingly, when suddenly she stopped, cocking her head inquisitively. Her tails wagged loosely over her back as she took a tentative step forward, sniffing the air. Eastwood lowered his head, the hair on his shoulders relaxing.

“The hell…?” McCree swore, completely baffled by his Arcanine’s reaction. “Eastwood! Hey! Hey, yeah, I’m talking to you!” he shouted as his Arcanine gave him a distinctly reproachful look. “Charge her! Don’t let her trick you! Charge!”

While Eastwood certainly understood, he did not obey. Instead, he cautiously walked up to the much smaller Ninetales, stretching out his enormous head to gently sniff at her. McCree grit his teeth in frustration and embarrassment. This truly was ridiculous. “Eastwood, get back here if you’re not going to finish this,” he snapped at his suddenly willful Arcanine. Never before had Eastwood been anything less than fearless in a fight. He stopped at nothing. Except, apparently, a female Ninetales that just happened to belong to a career criminal.

It gave him a small measure of satisfaction to see that Hanzo was having just as much trouble as he was. “Inari,” he called stiffly. “Inari, leave him. Get back here. Now.” 

She ignored him completely. McCree almost laughed out loud when he realized that Hanzo had blushed red with embarrassment. “Well, ain’t this something,” he said as their two Pokémon touched noses and sniffed at each other curiously. Eastwood’s massive brush tail wagged happily as the Ninetales (Inari, apparently) wound her way between his front legs. “I’ll be darned. Never seen anything quite like it. Love at first sight, y’know?”

“I ah… I have other Pokémon,” Hanzo said. He sounded almost contrite. “I could catch her and-“

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout catching her. They’re not doing any harm,” McCree cut him off, starting feeling almost more amused than annoyed by their Pokémon’s reactions. He grinned as Eastwood looked up from the Ninetales with a happy whine, wagging his tail hard enough to raise dust from the pavement.

Hanzo grunted. “I suppose.” He shot a glare at his Ninetales as if her action had personally caused him to lose face. In a way, McCree supposed it had.

“I’ll give you a moment,” McCree said, pulling another Poké Ball from one of his pockets. His next choice was a bit of a gamble compared to the usually steady Eastwood, but after the Arcanine’s performance, he needed to choose someone without any chance of being distracted. Fortunately, Hanzo seemed to have respect for convention and after a moment’s deliberation took out only one Poké Ball as well, rather than sending out all his Pokémon out at once to attack after his first failure.

“On three.” Hanzo called the countdown this time, speaking the numbers in a sharp, clipped tone as if this procedure were a waste of his time.

They threw their Poké Balls in unison, angling away from the Arcanine and Ninetales, who were still apparently engrossed in flirting with each other. McCree could do little more than watch as his Poké Ball burst open and his Tauros erupted out, bellowing as he pawed the asphalt. It took a moment for him to even locate Hanzo’s choice, a rather large Altaria that hovered for a few seconds before diving to peck at his Tauros’s back.

The Tauros spun furiously, throwing his head towards the Altaria in an attempt to hook it on his horns that the Altaria barely managed to dodge. It was then that the Tauros caught sight of the Ninetales, who was in the middle of playfully climbing onto Eastwood’s shoulders. Rather than continue his futile attempts at charging the airborne Altaria, the Tauros turned and galloped straight for directly for Inari.

“GUS, NO!” McCree hollered, realizing that this had the potential to end very badly. Gus was notorious for being difficult to stop once he started fighting. 

Just as he was about to recapture the Tauros to prevent him from trampling the unaware NInetales, Eastwood’s head shot up. Seeming to barely pause to think, he leapt over Inari and slammed his shoulder into the Tauros, knocking him off balance. 

Apparently cowed, Gus skidded to a halt, his three tails twitching in confusion. Sensing his uncertainty, Altaria swooped around and folded its wings as it fell into a dive aimed at the Tauros’s back.

Its attack did not go unnoticed, however. Growling, Eastwood jumped into the air and bulldozed the Altaria out of the sky, slamming it to the ground with a force that made McCree wince. 

More than ready to end what had turned into a dirty fight, he hastily captured Gus and watched as Hanzo rushed to his downed Altaria. 

“Is that how you normally fight?” Hanzo snarled as he passed him. “With haphazard tricks?”

“No… That was a little unusual,” McCree admitted. “Been sort of a strange day, though.”

After a few tense moments, Hanzo confirmed that his Altaria was not badly injured, having merely fainted from Eastwood’s attack. McCree breathed a sigh of relief as Hanzo began to pull potions from his backpack to revive it. 

He figured that Hanzo would probably not be too talkative, but with the fight paused, it was worth a shot. “Alright, I’ve got a few questions. I’ve been on your tail for a while now, not gonna lie. You straight up took off outta the blue three days ago. Left all your pals behind. What’s the deal with that?”

Unsurprisingly, Hanzo gave no immediate answer. “Why would I tell you?” he asked eventually, in the middle of reading the label on a potion. “I thought you were hunting me. That is what you were doing, is it not? Bounty hunting?”

“Ha, got me there,” McCree laughed. Glancing over his shoulder, he was amused to see Inari was back to tickling Eastwood’s nose with one of her many tails. “Out on your own like that, I figured you’d be an easier target, especially when you seemed headed for the plains. Car like that sticks out like a sore thumb out here.” he suppressed a flinch as Hanzo looked over his shoulder towards his vehicle,

Hanzo grimaced, his eyes flickering to the road and back to the now-awake Altaria. “You seemed to know a lot about my whereabouts and about the Shimada clan, but I think there is one detail that you missed.” His voice sounded strangely sincere. 

“And what’s that?” McCree asked.

“I betrayed them. I left. I think you can understand why I ‘took off outta the blue’, as you say.” He looked away, his eyebrows furrowed. The Altaria let out a warbling note of song, nudging Hanzo with its nose.

That was not the answer that McCree was expecting, but it made perfect sense. “Well. News to me, partner. So now you’ve got both them and the law on your tail. Those crimes I mentioned still happened under your watch. How long did you think you could run?”

“As long as I need to,” Hanzo replied curtly. “Why do you care?”

“Curiosity.” McCree stretched out a hand to pat Eastwood on the shoulder as the huge Arcanine trotted over, his new friend in tow. “Someone else will getcha eventually, y’know. Not me. Back in the day I’d’ve had to’ve taken you in, but not anymore.”

“Back in the day meaning…?”

McCree shrugged. “Long story. Tell you some other time, if you want.”

“I need a minute,” Hanzo said abruptly. He hoisted the Altaria in his arms and turned to walk toward his car, gesturing for Inari to follow him. 

Cursing himself for thinking that taking Hanzo’s car out of service was a good idea, McCree cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh. Hold up.”

“What.”

“I don’t think –“ He broke off as he noticed something strange in the sky. A glimmer of white and blue that barely showed against the noonday blue. “A Dragonair? Here?”

Hanzo looked over his shoulder and swore loudly, breaking into a run. Realizing the gravity of the situation, McCree lunged and grabbed his shoulder before he could get more than a few steps. 

“You won’t get anywhere in that!” he said without preamble. 

“Why the hell –“

A bolt of lightning cut him off, the sunny day turning foul in an instant. Both of the men ducked instinctively. Inari’s head snapped up to the sky. She sniffed the air, her ears pressed back against her head as she whined nervously.

“This looks pretty bad,” McCree muttered. “Not just a Dragonair, is it? There’s something else, too.”

“I… don’t know.” For the first time, McCree thought he heard a note of fear in Hanzo’s voice. He was almost glad to hear it. “There could be.” Hanzo lifted the Altaria he carried slightly higher and was about to continue towards his car when the Dragonair fell from the sky directly in front of them. 

Hanzo flinched as it skittered across the hood of his car, smashing the windscreen with a well-placed bolt of thunder. “Inari!” he called, his eyebrows knit together. “Your blizzard!”

 _Of course,_ McCree realized as Inari charged in, seemingly wreathed in snow and ice. _Alolan Ninetales are perfect for fighting dragons._ It seemed unlikely that Hanzo had chosen this particular Pokémon for his fighting team by accident. He must have suspected that he would need to fight the Shimada clan’s dragon types at some point. 

Unable to leave the Ninetales to fight on her own despite her advantages, Eastwood tore past, ganging up with Inari against the Dragonair. Lithe and agile, the Dragonair managed to dodge the majority of their attacks. Hanzo’s car was a different story. It suffered a beating from the fighting going on around it. McCree suspected that it might have been trained to bring fighting to vehicles like this. It seemed too coordinated to be an accident. 

Still holding the Altaria, Hanzo swore loudly as the Dragonair flew away, revealing a car that appeared thoroughly totalled. “He will be back,” he growled. “And when he does he with all the rest of the Shimada team. They always send him in first.”

“Think we’d best get outta here,” McCree said firmly.  
“My car is undrivable!” Hanzo snapped back indignantly, nodding towards his slightly smoking car. He looked down at the Altaria cradled in his arms. “I need to take care of Yosuzume, too, after what your - Eastwood, is that what you called him? - did to him.”

“He didn’t do anything worse than any other Pokémon would do in a fight,” McCree said with a shrug. He was beginning to feel as though Hanzo were completely unused to having his Pokémon knocked out. At least he seemed to be concerned for them. The unexpected revelation that he had betrayed the Shimada was beginning to make sense now. For someone belonging to a clan well known for its ruthless use of Pokémon to further its own goals, he was surprisingly caring towards his own team. 

Hanzo looked back at him, his eyes dark. “When the Shimada come back, they will kill him. They would kill any of my Pokémon that could not fight. Yours too, if you’re still here.”

They were wasting time by standing here and talking. McCree made up his mind. “Alright. Y’know what? I’m not too keen on that idea either. Why don’t you come along in the truck until we get away from this place?”

Hanzo scowled. “You would take me to the authorities,” he said dismissively. He stared back out over the horizon, his voice grim. “I would rather die fighting.”

McCree rolled his eyes. “You don’t want your Pokémon killed, but if you die, that’s fine. Well, I got some news for you, partner.” He jabbed a finger at Hanzo’s chest emphatically. “If you die, they die, too. Or maybe they’ll be lucky and be taken by the Shimada and fought to the death some other time. Can’t say. Either way, pretty bad. Now I’m not gonna lie, I don’t trust you much. I’d still rather your Pokémon not get killed like that. So. I ain’t gonna take you to the authorities this time. Sound like a deal?”

Deliberating for a moment, Hanzo eventually nodded, apparently swayed by a sad whistle from his Altaria, who must by now be feeling very heavy even in Hanzo’s muscular arms. “Fine. I will go with you. But you will let me go as soon as I can secure transportation for myself.”

“This once,” McCree agreed. “Okay… Let’s get in the truck. Eastwood! Truck time!”

Hearing his words, Eastwood bounded past, leaping into the bed of the pickup. The truck bed sagged in a way that would have looked almost comical in any other situation. At the moment, his added weight was not ideal.

“Glad you saw reason,” McCree said as he clambered into the driver’s seat as soon as Hanzo had captured Inari and cautiously opened the door of the truck to sit beside him, shifting the Altaria to his lap. “Didn’t seem like a fight you were gonna win. Couldn’t’ve driven that car of yours after what that Dragonair did. Not that what he did matters much. You weren’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Why did it not matter?” Hanzo’s gaze whipped towards his vehicle. “What do you mean?”

“Uh.” McCree shook his head. There were times when it probably would have been better if he had kept his mouth shut. Now was one of them. “Just doesn’t.”

“What did you do to my car?” Hanzo snarled, his eyes narrowed.

 _Took him long enough to realize,_ McCree thought dully. “I slashed the damn tires because I was bein’ an idiot, alright? Happy?”

It had been years since McCree had heard so many curses leveled in his direction, but he supposed by now he was overdue for a good scolding. Hanzo was definitely anything but happy about that particular bit of knowledge. Although Hanzo refrained from hitting him upside the head, he suspected that it took a monumental effort on Hanzo’s part to keep from doing so.

Soon they were once again streaking down the freeway, Hanzo angrily alternating between caring for his Altaria, chastising McCree for everything he could think of, and attempting to tune the radio to anything other than country. 

Looking out the side mirror, McCree caught sight of Eastwood lying in the bed of the truck, sniffing the air happily as the wind ran through his shaggy fur. Hanzo had moved on from insulting his intelligence to ranting about the stench in his vehicle, still on a diatribe that McCree was beginning to tune out. The Dragonair was now nowhere to be seen, but he suspected that the damage was already done. He had not hoped or expected to be on the run again any time soon, least of all with a disgraced crime lord. Whatever lay ahead on this road, it was sure to be a little different than he had planned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fellas spend some time on the road and have a few important chats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's wondering about the technology used here, I'm setting it at the level of what we had when I was a kid and Pokemon was first coming out on TV. Basically 1990s technology, with the exception of McCree's prosthetic hand, which at the time would have been far too advanced. Thanks again to Sleuthed for beta reading for me!

After a good quarter hour of intermittent ranting, Hanzo seemed to realize that McCree was not listening and finally (blessedly) fell quiet. McCree watched him out of the corner of his eye as he finished up with taking care of his Altaria and spent a few minutes stroking its head before capturing it in a Poké Ball that he stored in his backpack. Over the rattle of the truck, he could have sworn he heard Hanzo whisper something softly to the Pokémon. It did not quite fit the image that McCree had gathered of the man, but perhaps he had a couple favored Pokémon out of the ones that his clan had purportedly abused and trafficked, especially if he had few human friends to rely on.

Despite the distance they quickly put between them and the rest stop where the Dragonair had ambushed them, Hanzo remained as tense as ever. Every so often he would turn around and peer out the back window of the truck only to slump sullenly back in his seat once he had confirmed that no suspicious vehicles had begun following them. 

When he finally spoke again, his words were so abrupt that McCree almost jumped.

“That Arcanine is slowing us down,” Hanzo grumbled. “Your truck would go faster if you caught him.”

McCree’s eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Eastwood’s massive head. “He’s there for a reason.”

“To keep watch? I can do that.”

Rolling his eyes, McCree shook his head. “Yeah, betcha you’d love sitting in the truck bed catchin’ flies in your teeth. Besides, what would you do if that Dragonair came back? Throw one of your Poké Balls at him? While we’re going, what… hundred twenty kilometers an hour?” He snorted derisively. “Don’t really think so.”

“So Eastwood is going to leap from the back of your truck and fight them off?” Hanzo asked skeptically.

“He’s an Arcanine. Speed is kinda his thing,” McCree said with a shrug. “I’d slow down for him, but I dunno if he even needs it. We’ve done this before, this sorta deal.”

Hanzo grunted, unconvinced. He kicked at the pile of discarded soda cans and fast food bags at his feet, trying to clear his feet a more comfortable space. His lip curled in disgust. “So why were you doing this before?”

“Because I talk too much,” McCree muttered.

Sensing an opening, Hanzo persisted down another line of inquiry. “Who are you working for?”

“Not important.” McCree reached up under the serape on the dash and fumbled around until he found a battered box of cigarettes. He was in the process of opening it with one hand when Hanzo snatched it away.

“No,” he snapped. He tucked them into the side pocket of his door despite McCree’s incredulous glare. “I will not tolerate you smoking. Answer my question. I have no reason to trust you.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got no reason to trust you, either, partner, so I figure we’re about square until I can find a way to bust that clan of yours that doesn’t involve getting you and your Pokémon killed.” McCree tapped on the well-worn steering wheel thoughtfully, wishing he had a good solution to that particular problem. Catching Hanzo alone would have been one thing. Taking on several advanced and notoriously brutal Pokémon trainers was something else entirely.

“Why do you care about them?” Hanzo shot back.

Eastwood shifted in the bed of the truck, causing the entire vehicle to sway slightly. Unfazed, Hanzo fixed McCree with a piercing stare that he tried his best to ignore. “I just don’t like folks gettin’ away with stuff,” he said eventually.

“I gathered that,” Hanzo said stiffly. He looked out the window again at the landscape that was rapidly flashing by, clearly preoccupied. “You seem more principled than most bounty hunters. That is why I keep asking. Your justification for this is not what I would have expected.”

McCree was silent for a while, considering how much Hanzo really needed to know. He was starting to feel distinctly annoyed from the combination of Hanzo’s questions, the lack of a smoke break, and this whole situation in general.

“Look, I told you it was a long story,” he said, raising a hand to hush Hanzo when he went to protest. “Yeah, I was in law enforcement for a bit. I’m not anymore. I’m working for myself.”

Grimacing, Hanzo shot another glance behind them. “What part of law enforcement?”

“I ain’t gonna be interrogated in my own damn truck, alright?” McCree objected. The temptation to kick Hanzo out the side door was growing by the minute. His questions were nevertheless understandable. He was in a highly vulnerable situation, to put it lightly. “I left that life for a reason. Been a long few years on my own since then. That’s alright though, since I’ve got my team to keep me company. You meet some interesting folks on the road, too. Get to see a lot of the countryside. Something new every day. It’s not so bad.”

His rambling answer was obviously unsatisfying for Hanzo, but surprisingly he did not press him any further. With a sigh, Hanzo settled back against the passenger’s seat and looked out the window again, his chewing his lip impatiently.

He had just started to relax when McCree flicked on the turn signal and pulled off onto a small, poorly marked exit. The sudden change of pace made him bolt upright again.

“Where are you going?” he snapped.

McCree realized too late that he should have explained this detour in advance. “The gas station,” he said flatly, pointing at the almost empty fuel gauge. “Should’ve said something, I guess. Not used to having folks in the truck with me anymore.”

“I… should have noticed,” Hanzo muttered, his voice strangely apologetic.

“Nah, it’s alright.” McCree understood his concern. Riding along with a stranger required a certain amount of trust that Hanzo was clearly unused to placing in another person. 

The gas station was old and rundown, populated only by a couple of battered campervans at the pumps. Hanzo rolled down the window and stayed in the truck as McCree got out and walked around the back to check on Eastwood, who greeted him with an excited headbutt and a wagging tail that pounded on the sides of the truck bed like a drum. He glanced into the vehicle again as he walked back, noticing Hanzo staring at his lap as if bowing his head would somehow hide his identity. Chuckling, McCree turned to walk into the gas station mini mart. Although paying in cash was a pain, it seemed like a far better idea than leaving a clear paper trail to his location. Traffic cameras would undoubtedly already show his truck turning into the rest stop after Hanzo’s car and then leaving with the two of them inside and his unmistakable Arcanine in the back. Even if the Shimada clan did not have the political influence that McCree suspected they did, they would undoubtedly be smart enough to be watching traffic videos. The sooner they got off of the freeway and onto the backroads, the better.

He scanned the gas station lot idly as he filled up the truck. Other than a particularly overstuffed dumpster, nothing seemed out of place. One of the campervans roared to life as he hung the fuel nozzle back on the hook, drowning out the sound of him slamming the door as he got back into the truck.

“Awful hot in here even with the windows down,” he commented, taking off his hat and tossing it carelessly on top of the pile of clutter in the backseat. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head to get rid of the nasty feeling that his hair was stuck to his scalp.

It was then that he noticed Hanzo staring at him. “What?” he asked self-consciously, convinced that Hanzo was staring at his metal prosthetic.

A split second later, he noticed the papers in Hanzo’s lap. The logo in the top left was unmistakable. He swore under his breath, jamming the keys into the ignition. “I could’ve sworn I locked that up.”

“You did,” Hanzo replied, looking back at the papers. “It was hardly difficult to pick.”

“So much for trusting you,” McCree growled, more annoyed than angry. Nothing in that glove box was especially secret, even if he had been trying to keep it from Hanzo. “Whelp, what’d you learn?”

Hanzo flipped through a few of the sheets, frowning as McCree shifted the car into reverse and backed out from the gas pump. It was difficult to see out the back of the truck with Eastwood’s big head taking up most of the back window. The Arcanine looked up as they started moving again, his nose in the air.

“I am not quite sure what to think,” Hanzo admitted. “I thought they were stolen at first.”

“Ouch. Took me for a thief?” McCree wrinkled his nose.

“Considering that _this_ appears to be an old wanted poster for you, that would hardly be a stretch,” Hanzo said dryly, pulling a larger, wrinkled paper from the back of the stack. “Jesse J. McCree. What does that J stand for?”

“James,” he deadpanned. “Y’know, like that Team Rocket, Jessie and –“

“You _cannot_ be serious.”

He laughed, glancing out the window as he pulled back out onto the road and this time turned away from the major freeway and instead continued down a smaller highway. “Nah, just messin’ with ya. It’s a secret. Maybe someday you’ll figure it out.”

The change of direction did not go unnoticed by Hanzo despite their conversation. “Why are you driving this way?”

“Gonna try to lose those goons on our trail,” McCree drawled. “I know the backroads and they don’t. Figure that puts us at a bit of an advantage. No highway cameras, lots of ways on and off, a few dirt tracks we can hide down if we need to. Lot better than trying to outrun those clowns.”

Hanzo made no objection. “The documents claim that you were in the Pokémon Overwatch,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Why? It makes no sense to me. You were in Overwatch and then… left? And now you have a bounty on your head? Did you actually leave by choice or was it when--?”

“Left by choice,” McCree cut him off. “Before... Y’know. All that. Wasn’t happy with the direction things were going.” Hearing the news all those years ago of the devastatingly violent attack on headquarters had initially thrown him into a deep despair, followed by a quest for justice and answers that had continued on and off through the years since. It was hardly something that he wanted to discuss with this stranger. He could still remember where he sat in a cheap café down south watching replays of a notable gym battle when suddenly coverage cut to news of the attack, the screen filling with images of a smoking ruin of the place he had lived for years. Tens of Pokémon and several elite trainers were reported dead, others missing. In that moment, the world that he had known was gone, replaced by an uncertainty that followed him ever since. “Missing” meant nothing to him. He was missing, to many people. If his former superior could be found, he would find him, or so he had told himself at the time.

“Why would you be wanted by the authorities yourself, though?” Hanzo continued. “Especially after you got this award mentioned here. What did you do?”

“Kept doing Overwatch-type stuff without being in Overwatch, and that made a few folks angry. By the way, that bounty is real old. I got acquitted, so don’t worry about it,” McCree said evasively. “Anyway the award ain’t nothing special, everyone got one after we stopped that team that was hellbent on taking over the world and didn’t mind killing a few trainers along the way. You remember that? Man, that was a rough battle there at the end. Nearly lost poor Eastwood.”

Still looking unconvinced, Hanzo looked away, rustling the papers in his lap. “You definitely favor that Arcanine.”

A smile tugged at the corners of McCree’s mouth. He found himself looking in the rearview mirror once more at the massive Pokémon who took up most of the truck bed. “You betcha I do. I’ve had him since he was a little Growlithe pup. I was a little kid myself. Thought we were hot stuff, taking over gyms left and right.” He pointedly left out part where he had joined the Deadlock Gang and nearly gotten both of them and his entire fighting team killed. Instead, he turned the conversation back to Hanzo. Might as well try to get a little more information out of him now that he had both violated his trust and learned a little of his own background. “What about you? Had that Ninetales for long? Don’t see too many Alolan Pokémon out here.”

“Not as long,” Hanzo said. One of his hands reached toward his pocket, where McCree suspected that he kept her Poké Ball in safekeeping for now. “She was a gift to me. Fortunately we seem to work well together.”

“Legal gift, I hope,” McCree muttered darkly.

“I was young enough that I would hardly have dared ask,” Hanzo replied.

He tapped the steering wheel with his metal fingers, recalling a note about Hanzo Shimada that he had come across in his research on the man. “I read something about you,” he began. “Well, you and the rest of your folks. Read you all have Dragonairs that never evolve into Dragonites. Why’s that? Y’all just prefer ones that aren’t as strong?”

Hanzo grimaced. Something that McCree had said bothered him, though he could not be sure what. “No. They come from a special breed. They cannot evolve beyond being Dragonairs, but become especially powerful in that form.”

McCree pressed on despite Hanzo’s apparent discomfort. “Now according to official documentation, all’ve y’all had at least one Dragonair. You had two. And supposedly you favored them in battle, but I never saw –“

“They’re dead,” Hanzo said harshly. His face twisted in anger. “They were taken from me as I tried to sever ties with the clan. I was told they were summarily destroyed. I had them since I was a small child.”

Speechless, McCree could do nothing but keep driving, a dull feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. The brutality of the Shimada clan was no secret. Hearing firsthand what they had done to one of their own members was still horrifying. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “That should never happen again. I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t.”

“Some would say I deserved it,” Hanzo said quietly.

“And they’d be wrong.”

Hanzo stared at the floor, his bushy eyebrows knit together in frustration. “You never learned what I did.”

Genji, McCree thought. His blood ran cold. Rumor had it that Hanzo had been the one to take down Genji Shimada’s formerly shockingly successful team. Both the trainer and his Pokémon had disappeared afterward. McCree suddenly had a horrible suspicion of where they had gone.

“You killed your brother’s Dragonair,” he blurted.

Despite McCree’s conviction when he had said it, Hanzo’s expression was uncertain. “I cannot say. The fight was terrible, but I did not see the aftermath. I was forced to do it and it’s why I tried to leave.” He paused. “I should not be telling you this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” McCree said, although he did find the revelation unsettling to say the least. “Doesn’t matter if I know. Can’t say I’m happy to know you did that, but I already knew you did some pretty awful stuff. Suppose you leaving is the first step to making things right. Can’t stop there, though. Think you’ve got a long way to go still.”

Hanzo shrugged noncommittally, looking away once more. He brought his hands up to rub his face tiredly, heaving a heavy sigh. Dropping his arms, he looked for a moment as if he were poised to say something else, but apparently thought better of it.

They passed the next hour or so with only the rumble of passing cars and the radio to break the tense silence between them. As they travelled ever farther from the main freeway, the number of radio stations that Hanzo was able to tune to diminished rapidly. Eventually they were down to a single channel, which, to Hanzo’s great displeasure, apparently played only country. Grimacing with disgust, Hanzo poked the off button with what was probably unnecessary force. McCree raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He certainly would have preferred the distraction from the tedium of driving to listening to the sounds of the engine and tires slap for what was likely to be hours on end even if Hanzo felt otherwise.

The trees and rocky outcroppings that dotted the plains gradually faded away as they drove, the landscape opening up into a seemingly endless sea of grass. Other vehicles became few and far between in the nothingness of the prairie. McCree watched the landscape go by in his peripheral vision, wishing that he had the time to stop. The prairie was a place full of memories, both good and bad. Many were known only to him and the grass that nodded softly in the breeze as they streaked past. They would likely stay that way. No one else was alive to remember much of what had happened here, or, for that matter, many of the other places where he had stayed, ran, and fought in the years before.

He took several turns from one lonely country road to the next, making up his route as he went. Although it was far from the most sensible way to travel, the seemingly random track hopefully would serve to make following them difficult. At least, that is what McCree told himself as he made yet another turn onto a different road.

When he was younger, he had known this road well. Something was out of place today, though. Squinting into the afternoon sun as he drove westward, he noticed what appeared from a distance to be boulders in the field. He knew better than to assume that those were rocks, however.

Easing on the brakes, he pulled onto the shoulder and slowed to a stop. Gazing intently out the side window, he threw the truck in park and yanked the keys from the ignition. Hanzo looked up in confusion, blinking as though he had been lost in thought or nearly dozing. “What--?” he began.

Wordlessly, McCree pointed out the window. Hanzo looked where he was pointing and gasped audibly as he noticed what he indicated.

A herd of what must have been at least a thousand Tauros rumbled through the grass a few hundred meters to their right, the thundering of their hooves growing ever louder as they approached. As they watched, the Tauros swarmed up the embankment at the side of the road and streamed across the pavement, bellowing to each other as they charged past. Hanzo leaned forward in awe to watch through the windshield as the bulls galloped past, their trios of tails held aloft as they ran.

Almost as quickly as they had appeared, the last few stragglers of the Tauros herd passed them by, their lowing calls fading into the distance. The truck shook as Eastwood leapt out and trotted up the road a few paces, his nose working as he sniffed after the herd.

“I had no idea,” Hanzo said softly, “that there were even so many Tauros left in the entire world.”

McCree could not help but smile. “Got a fair number out here. Not gonna lie to you, though, that was the most I’ve ever seen at a time. Pretty impressive, ain’t it?”

“They are,” Hanzo agreed. “Did you find Gus out here?”

“Nah. Don’t think Gus was ever wild.” His eyebrows knit together thoughtfully, mildly surprised that Hanzo had remembered his Tauros’s name. “Did try to reintroduce him to a herd out here, but they didn’t take to him. Happens a lot with Pokémon rescued off the black market like he was. Don’t know how to interact with their own kind. Don’t know how to live out here. Don’t know how to do much of anything but fight, really. Took a long time before Gus’d even trust me.”

“He certainly does remember how to fight, though,” Hanzo said darkly. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again, a faint note of regret in his voice. “We really should keep moving.”

“Yeah, ‘spose so,” McCree muttered. He rolled down his window and gestured for Eastwood, who still seemed intent on watching the Tauros herd, to jump back up into the truck. The Arcanine bounded back, stopping to bump his hand with his nose before climbing back into the truck bed. After a moment’s consideration, with the threat of being chased down by the Shimada clan slightly less likely, he reluctantly decided to climb out and capture him so they could make better time. Eastwood liked riding in the truck, but he was both too heavy and too conspicuous to do it now that they were out of immediate danger.

They had not travelled far before Hanzo spoke again. “Are you just… driving randomly, or do you actually have a plan?” he asked skeptically.

“I’ve got a plan,” McCree replied, nodding. “Yep. Might not be the best plan, but I’ve got one.”

“And what is that?” Hanzo prompted.

“After ‘get the hell outta here’?” McCree laughed humorlessly. “Well, tonight we’ve gotta find someplace to stay. Least I do. Ain’t feelin’ too keen on drivin’ all night after all this. I’ve gotta make a supply run tomorrow. Suppose you’ll be going your own way soon as you can, but I figure we oughta keep in contact. Soon as your clan catches wind of where you’re at, they’re gonna try to track you down again.”

Hanzo did not argue that assertion. From all of the looking over his shoulder that he had done during the drive, that was not surprising. “Where are you going for this supply run?”

Biting his lip, McCree shrugged. “Not sure,” he lied.

“After what happened to my vehicle, I also will need to stock up on supplies,” Hanzo explained. He picked at a fiber pulling loose from his seat, appearing distracted. “But this fight is mine. I doubt that keeping in contact with you would serve any useful purpose.”

McCree scoffed. “Really? You still think that? Nope. Nah, those suckers are my problem, too. Told ya, I don’t like folks who do business that way. We’ll take ‘em down. Gonna need more help, though. Don’t think just the two of us could manage. Maybe we could. Just don’t wanna risk my Pokémon for it.”

With a particularly savage yank, Hanzo tore the fiber free. “I have no need of your help. With enough time and preparation, I will manage on my own.”

“Yeah, sure. You betcha,” McCree said sarcastically. “Your team against their what, six? Don’t see that ending too well. I’m not sayin’ you needa ride around in the truck every day, just that it might be smart to work together a bit, keep in touch, that kind of thing.”

“That will not be necessary,” Hanzo snapped. “I assure you – “

“Or I could just trail you again,” McCree interjected. “You ain’t exactly hard to find.”

Hanzo practically snarled. “Has anyone ever told you that you are _exceedingly_ stubborn?”

Letting out a bark of laughter, McCree shrugged, the gesture made slightly awkward with his hands both still on the steering wheel. “Been told that once or twice, yeah.”

“Make that three times,” Hanzo said dryly, making McCree laugh again.

His light mood evaporated quickly. After driving for most of the day he was feeling tired, hungry, and frustrated. Hanzo was probably not doing much better, but at least he was only a passenger--not forced to keep his mind constantly sharp as he drove. Somewhere in the truck he had a bag of snacks, but he was still reluctant to stop and take the time to find them. The farther that they went today, the better.

Passing vehicles became more common again as they began to reenter civilization, driving through acres and acres of farmland. Compared to the wild landscape, cornfields were painfully boring. There was little to provide any distraction from the tedium of driving besides observing other cars.

Something prickled at the back of his neck as a silver sedan drove past, its windows bearing a suspicious dark tint. “You recognize that car?” he asked, gesturing out the window with his left hand.

Hanzo turned around in his seat, squinting to scrutinize the passing vehicle. “Why should I?”

“That’s the second time it’s passed us in the last quarter hour,” McCree commented conversationally. The shining car stood out like a sore thumb among the dusty SUVs and pickup trucks more common on the road here.

Letting out a string of profanity, Hanzo gripped his backpack in his lap as if it would somehow help their current situation. He looked over his shoulder again, this time not immediately turning back.

“Have they turned around?” McCree asked, focused on the road up ahead. There was a lighter streak on the pavement from dirt dragged onto the road from an adjacent field. That might be his best hope of getting off of this otherwise unbroken stretch of freeway.

“They’re still going,” Hanzo said. “They will probably wait to turn around until they reach the traffic circle we went around earlier.”

McCree grunted in recognition. “Alright. Hold on.”

Hanzo’s head whipped back around to the front of the car. “Hold –?“

His question broke off into a startled yelp as McCree abruptly yanked the wheel to the right and slid onto the gravel road that ran between cornfields. “Sorry about that,” he said unapologetically, slamming his foot down on the gas, a cloud of dust kicking up behind the truck.

“Are you insane?” Hanzo demanded.

“Might be,” McCree shrugged, slowing just enough to turn onto another gravel road. Corn stalks waved behind them, buffeted by the wind off of the truck. “But y’know, I’d rather not deal with your family right now. I’ll get us outta here.”

“Or we will end up dead in a ditch, one of the two.”

McCree let out a reckless laugh. It had been too long since he was last on the run. Might as well have fun while he was at it.

By the time they finally left the fields, his truck was even filthier than before and Hanzo’s white-knuckled grip on the grab handle was so strong that McCree almost worried that he would tear it off. Despite the scare, the silver sedan evidently either chose not to follow them through the cropland or simply never saw where they pulled off, as it never showed again. Flipping on his turn signal, McCree pulled back onto a different highway and continued as if nothing had happened at all.

Shadows lengthened as evening approached. Eventually forced to give into his stomach and his truck’s fuel gauge, McCree stopped at another gas station and bought himself and Hanzo a pair of decidedly disappointing cold burritos for an improvised dinner on the road. Hanzo grumbled about the quality of the food but at least had the decency to grudgingly thank McCree for it. He waved off his thanks, remembering distinctly slashing his tires earlier that day. Had it only been a day already? Searching his map briefly for the closest small town in which they could hope to stay the night and meeting only resistance from Hanzo, he could not help but wonder if traveling with this man was more trouble than it was worth.


End file.
